


A Good Place to Start

by sunkelles



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: But it's in a dream sequence so it's not quite the same, Character Study, Family Feels, Friendship, Gen, Graphic Violence, M/M, Pre-Slash, Young Justice Mini Bang, bart's abysmal spanish pronunciation, copious pop culture references, dreams as a narrative device
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 01:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15208274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkelles/pseuds/sunkelles
Summary: Jaime deals with his trauma and his relationships after his time spent on mode.





	A Good Place to Start

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This was written for the mini bang over at yjficexchange, but it's four days late. Hope that it still counts haha  
> 2\. I’m an English speaker with some elementary Spanish knowledge, but that’s about it. I read this really cool post on tumblr about multilingual people accidentally mixing up idioms in the different languages and I thought that would be a cool touch to add. The time that Jaime does it is purposeful. It’s a running family gag to use the wrong idioms in the wrong language now. https://www.fluentu.com/blog/spanish/spanish-idioms/  
> 3\. A HUGE thanks to @khaki-da over on tumblr for both betaing this and doing the upcoming art work! as soon as that's done I'll put a link to it here in the author's note :)  
> 4\. If I were to say this wasn't heavily inspired by Barkour's wonderful "This Person, This Place" I would be lying. I hadn't read it for a few years before I wrote this so it wasn't really intentional but it sure did happen. You should read that one too, if you're at all interested in this concept.

Jaime Reyes has no idea where he is. For once in his life, Khaji Da doesn’t tell him either. That’s strange. His scarab normally never stops telling him the logistics behind any given situation. Half of the time the chatter inside of his head is so loud that he can barely think. Now, however, there is silence in his brain. He tries to appreciate that as he takes in his surroundings.

The sky above him is gray. The ground beneath his feet is gray. The burned skeletons of buildings surrounding him are gray.

 

Gray, gray, gray

 

It’s as if all the color in the world around him has been sucked out. If he couldn’t see the bright blue of his armor, he’d think he was in a black and white movie or that he stepped into some kind of dystopian version of Oz.

“Khaji?” he says, “I don’t think we’re in Texas anymore.” Khaji Da doesn’t respond, presumably not gracing his pop culture reference with a response. Jaime doesn’t remember where he is. He’s capable of space travel. They’ve sent him on missions across the galaxy before, maybe this is just one of those? He feels terrible for whoever used to live here, though. He hopes that they got off world alright.

He looks up at the ashen colored sky and sees that it’s not just ashen  _ colored  _ \- it’s literally filled with ashes. They fall gently from the sky like snowflakes. It reminds him enough of the way that Bart described his future to unsettle him.

He tries to draw his cannon, but finds that he can’t make it work. He tries to draw his scythe instead, and finds that he can’t form that either. He settles for crossing his arms over his chest.

“Black Beetle,” he says, grateful that he can at least still make his mouth work, “I thought you died.” He thinks he remembers Black Beetle dying, but the memory is hazy, barely out of reach. He feels like he’s grasping at a bar of soap in the shower trying to remember.

 

He thought that the Reach were arrested, at least. He specifically remembers a trial- a sentencing-

“Oh little brother,” Black Beetle says, “you really thought you’d gotten rid of us that easily?”

“I did,” Jaime says, “never thought I’d run into you in the middle of nowhere.” He thinks frantically at Khaji, trying to get him to figure out what’s up with the armor. For once in his life, his scarab doesn’t respond. Jaime hopes that means that he’s already on it.

“The ambassador took you off mode for ten minutes and you’ve already forgotten what you’ve done. You humans really are pathetic.” Jaime doesn’t even think he wants to try to fight right now. He decides to try to fly away instead. Jaime tries to draw his wings and finds that they won’t rise to his call. He’s surprised that Khaji Da hasn’t tried to tell him what’s up with his body. Or given him a rundown of a million different ways to get out of this situation. Or said  _ anything at all. _

“What?”

“This is the earth,” Black Beetle says. Then he grins. On Black Beetle it looks more like a snarl.

“No,” Jaime says, “you’re lying.”

“Do you need a big reveal, little brother?” Black Beetle taunts, “a statue of liberty poking up through the ashes?” Jaime changed his mind about not fighting him. He’ll take Black Beetle on with his  _ bare hands  _ if he has to.

Jaime tries to charge at him, but this time his legs don’t even respond to his call. His own limbs won’t even listen to him. Just like when- back when-

“Khaji?” he asks. Khaji Da remains silent, like he has this entire time. Jaime feels dread settle in his stomach as he realizes that Khaji must not be able to speak. He might even be-

“Your scarab is gone, Mr. Reyes,” the ambassador says directly into his brain, “at least, his consciousness is.” He tries to question this out loud, but finds that his mouth isn’t working either. Instead of asking “his consciousness?” aloud, he thinks it.

“We wouldn’t be able to steer your body if we destroyed the scarab entirely,” the ambassador tells him, and Jaime realizes that this thing is actually happening. The Reach has taken over the world. He’s moded again. He’s moded and the earth has turned to ash. They probably used his body to make it this way.

“It’s just you and me for the rest of eternity,” the ambassador’s voice says.

That’s all there is, gray skies and gray pillars and gray ashes falling from the sky.

 

Gray, gray, gray

 

Suddenly, the scene shifts. He sees Tye standing across from him, wearing his bandana and a matching orange t-shirt. He’s suddenly reminded of all those times his mom complained that those two slightly different colors of orange didn’t match.

Then his scythe springs for from his hand, and any thoughts of fashion disintegrate.

“Jaime?”

“Don’t make me-” his scythe comes forward and stabs Tye through the chest, the rest of his sentence comes out as a squeak, “do this!” Then, the scythe pulls out of Tye’s chest unbidden, and the blood pours out onto his shirt.

The only response he gets from the ambassador is a cruel chuckle in the back of his brain, but it’s not loud enough that Jaime can’t hear the noises of pain that Tye is making.

“Shit,” he groans, and then he coughs. The coughing becomes a fit, but then he sputters and it just stops. Tye shifts into Bart like the Elongated Man changes faces. The wound through his chest is gone, but Jaime gets a sinking feeling as he realizes it won’t be for long.

“Blue?” he asks, looking concerned, “what’s wrong?” The blood on his scythe drips to the floor.

“Oh god,” he says, eyes widening, “you aren’t Blue.” Jaime expects Bart to run, then, to become a brightly colored blur that his eyes only barely register, but apparently that’s too much to hope for when Bart’s frozen in shock.

“I- I came back to stop this-” Bart says, terror in his voice, terror directed at Jaime. 

“Please don’t,” Jaime says, “he’s been through so much-” His Scyther arm comes forward and slices a clean cut across Bart’s throat. His eyes are wide and pleading as the blood runs down the gash in this throat.

Bart tries to say something, but all that comes out is a gurgled choking noise. Red blood stains his green shirt in a splotchy, irregular pattern. It looks like a splatter painting done in only one color. Then he falls to the ground, probably dead. Soon to be dead.

 

Dead, dead, dead

 

Then, his family appears before his eyes, all three of them with big smiles on their faces. They’re standing there together, like they’re posing for a photo, Bart’s bloody body lying motionless in front of them.

He can’t- he can’t watch this

His scythe shifts into view, and he feels more afraid than he ever has in his life.

Jaime wakes with a gasp. He feels a soft mattress underneath him and a fluffy comforter above him. He’s in his bed at home. The Reach didn’t win. It was just a nightmare.

 

But the thing about nightmares? They’re like being stuck inside your own personal horror movie. Finding out it was “just” a nightmare is a relief, but it doesn’t somehow erase the images now seared into his brain,

_ I’m sorry to wake you so abruptly,  _ Khaji Da’s voice says directly into his brain,  _ but your adrenaline levels were spiking.  _ Jaime tosses in his bed, sheets and bedspread adjusting around him.

_ It appeared that you were having one of your nightmares again.  _ Again, because he’s had nightmares like this almost every time he’s tried to sleep since he finally got off mode.

But at least it’s over now, right? He’s in his bed at home. He’s safe. Black Beetle is dead. The other leading members of the Reach are behind bars in the most high tech prison in the galaxy.

“Thank you for waking me up,” Jaime says. He can  _ move.  _ He’s in his bed. That was all just a bad dream. A terrible nightmare that he’s woken up from now. He’s awake and he’s exhausted, but at least he’s out of the nightmare now.

It’s hard to feel quite so relieved about that. His sleep hasn’t been solid in weeks. He knows that it won’t start being solid again tonight, when he knows that if he closes his eyes he’ll see the world coated in ashes and his two best friends dead by his own hands.

He turns on his light and stares at the ceiling instead. He’s too tired to even try studying but he knows he won’t be able to sleep. It would be pointless and terrifying to even try.

_ Staring at the ceiling is an ineffective use of time,  _ Khaji Da says.

“Yeah,” Jaime says, “I know.”

_ Then you should not do it,  _ Khaji Da scolds.

“Just please stop,” Jaime says, “it’s a human thing.” Khaji Da huffs in his brain, but he doesn’t protest any further. He allows Jaime to keep doing the inefficient human thing because it’s what he needs right now.

He’s still awake when his alarm buzzes later that morning, and he’s exhausted and he feels gross but at least he didn’t have to relive that nightmare again.

  
  


Jaime grabs for a cup, and then he grabs the coffee pot. He gets ready to pour.

_ That is not a cup  _ , Khaji Da says, and Jaime realizes he was about to pour his coffee into a  _ bowl  _ . He quickly slides the pot back into the coffee maker and sets the bowl down at his spot at the table. Then he gets himself a cup of coffee (more like a fourth of a cup from the dregs of his mother’s) and a bowl of cereal. He sits down beside Milagro and across the table across from his mom. If either of them noticed that he almost poured his coffee into a bowel, they don’t mention it. Jaime appreciates that.

“Where have you been?” Milagro asks, sending him a harsh look.

“Right here,” Jaime says.

“What Mila  _ means  _ is that you didn’t even leave your room last night,” his mother says. The  _ again  _ doesn’t need to be spoken. Jaime most definitely  _ did  _ leave his room last night, but it was to run a quick mission in Chicago, not to hang out with his family.

His aching muscles and his encroaching sense of loneliness really wish that it was to hang out with his family. He would have much rather to have hung out with his family.

“Sorry mom,” he says, “just needed to study.”

“Again?”

“Lots of tests.”

“You’re a good student, mijo,” she says, “you don’t have to run yourself into the ground.” His family isn’t struggling, but they aren’t wealthy enough to put him through school, especially not since he’s been thinking about  _ med  _ school. That’s years and years of time and hundreds of thousands of dollars. He needs every A that he can get.

“I’m fine, mom,” Jaime says.  _ Totally crash,  _ he thinks.

“Tye is back home now and he’s barely been over.”

“Tye’s been busy too,” Jaime says. That’s not untrue either. Tye’s been trying to help Asami get settled here in El Paso and trying to learn Japanese, so he doesn’t have a ton of free time.

“And what about that new friend of you, that hyper little white boy?”

“Mom-”

“He hasn’t been over in a while,” she says.

“I’m just busy,” he says. He knows it’s a hollow excuse, but it’s the only one that he can give her. He’s busy, and he’s going to keep being busy for the rest of his life. It’s just his way of life now.

“I just want you to be happy, Jaime,” she says. Jaime looks away. He doesn’t really know how to make that happen anymore. He doesn’t even know what to tell his mom to convince her of it.

“I want you to watch movies with me,” Milagro says.

“Soon,” he says, “I promise.” Movies he can probably do. He takes one last sopping bite of cereal and then picks up his bowl.

“I’m going upstairs before we leave,” Jaime says.

“If you’re not down in time we’re leaving without you,” his mother threatens. He knows that it’s empty, but he’ll make sure he’s ready to leave when she is anyway. He respects her enough for that.

Jaime shuts his door and rustles through his backpack to make sure that he has everything he needs.

He sets a timer for five minutes before they need to be out the door and stares up at the ceiling.

_ Why do you not just tell your family what happened?  _ Khaji Da asks.

“I just can’t,” Jaime tells him.

_ You are not prone to deception,  _ Khaji Da says.

“I can’t tell them,” Jaime says.

_ There are no restrictions on it,  _ Khaji Da says,  _ The Aqualad gave you permission to tell your parental units. _

“I mean that I can’t,” Jaime says

_ But you can,  _ Khaji says,  _ you’ve been given permission. _

“I can’t do it emotionally, compa,” Jaime says, and he doesn’t think he can explain it beyond that, “It’s a human thing.”

_ You are strange creatures,  _ Khaji says,  _ would it not make it easier if they knew? _

“Probably,” Jaime admits. He’s just not ready to explain it to them. He doesn’t feel like he ever will be.

_ Then why do you not tell them? _

“I don’t know,” Jaime says, “but I can’t. Please, just stop.” Khaji Da hmmps in his brain, but he doesn’t say anything. He lets Jaime have his human idiosyncrasies that he probably just thinks are human idiocies. Jaime stares up at the ceiling and tries not to worry about how tired he’s going to be for the rest of the day.

The terror of realizing that he didn’t control his own body.

He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling. It looks the exact same as it did this morning. The horrors that meet him when he closes his eyes look the exact same as they did this morning too.

_ Close your eyes,  _ Khaji says,  _ our form needs sleep. _

“I wish I could,” Jaime tells him. His eyes are starting to hurt from looking there so long, and he flips to his stomach, staring at his sky blue sheets instead. He’s exhausted physically and mentally. All he wants is sleep but he just  _ can’t  _ right now.

He can’t, no matter how much he wants to, no matter how much he expected to. He thought that he was going to be able to go to bed tonight. Normally the images have purged themselves from his consciousness by the time that he has to crash and he gets three or fours hours of sleep before his rest is wrested away from him by the nightmares

  
  
  
  


Jaime’s not a stranger to nightmares. Back when he was a kid he’d have nightmares about spiders under the bed turning into monsters or losing his parents or coming to class naked.

Then, when he fused with Khaji Da he had nightmares about Khaji taking over his body or the government deciding to drag him away from his family to experiment on him. The nightmares happened more often after that, but it was still just a hypothetical terror. It could happen, but it hadn’t yet.

While he knows now that Khaji would never take over and that the government would probably never drag him away to experiment on him, he knows terror more intimately than he ever did before. His nightmares of the Reach taking over his body come from experience, and his terror of being used to kill his loved ones and take over the world come from a place of knowledge.

It did happen somewhere and it almost happened here. Even though he knows that it won’t happen here now, he can’t stop his brain from fearing the possibility.

That possibility is minute, but it’s still there. A theoretical possibility instead of a hypothetical one.

He needs to talk to someone about this other than the inhuman voice in his brain. Khaji does his best, but he doesn’t grasp the intricacies of human emotions as well as another human would.

His mom was right. He hasn’t talked to Tye in a long time and he really should. They have a lot to catch up on.

Oh yeah. It’s midnight on a school night. Tye probably wouldn’t appreciate his company right now. He decides that he’ll try tomorrow after school instead. Hopefully he’ll be able to steal at least a few hours of sleep before that time comes.

He stops by Tye’s at four o’clock the next day, and he’s glad that Tye’s actually there to open the door. He’d have felt stupid if he came over and his friend was out of the house. Tye peaks his head out of the door.

“Jaime?”

“You look surprised to see me,” Jaime says.

“You haven’t been over in months,” Tye says, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks like he’s torn between being happy that Jaime’s here now and pissed that he wasn’t here sooner.

“Sorry,” Jaime says, “I’ve been busy.”

“Wallowing?” Tye asks. Jaime sighs. Tye’s always been able to see through him, maybe even easier than his parents.

“Maybe,” Jaime says out loud.

_ Affirmative,  _ Khaji Da says into his brain.

“Shut up,” Jaime grumbles to himself. He’s glad that Tye can tell he’s talking to his scarab.

“Well come in. You can learn Japanese with us.” Tye gestures to the TV which is frozen on a brightly colored fight scene featuring a blonde girl in a cute outfit that’s impractical for fighting in. Yeah, that’s definitely an episode of  _ Sailor Moon  _ . Jaime’s never seen it, but he does know what the characters look like.

“You’re just watching anime,” Jaime says.

“Watching anime _ is  _ studying if you’re learning Japanese,” Tye says.

“Uh huh,” Jaime says, “and I can get Bart to pronounce hermano right if I show him a few telenovelas.”

“Do you want to watch anime with us or not?” Tye demands.

“Sure,” Jaime says, “we can keep watching  _ Sailor Moon  _ if you want.” His masculinity isn’t fragile enough that he can’t enjoy a show about girls. His sister hasn’t stopped watching  _ Star vs the Forces of Evil  _ on repeat for a year.

“We’re a hundred episodes in,” Tye says.

“Well then,” Jaime says. He’s not exactly interested in being  _ that  _ confused.

“Want to watch a Ghibli movie instead?”

“Sure. I’ve only seen  _ Spirited Away  _ .” He’s heard good things about a few of the other ones, but he’s never had an opportunity to watch any of them before.

“How about  _ Castle in the Sky  _ ?” Tye suggests. Jaime shrugs. He doesn’t know anything about these movies so that works with him. It sounds cool enough.

“Asami, wanna watch  _ Castle in the Sky  _ ?” Asami shakes her head and gets up out of the decrepit, descending recliner.

“No, I am going to study,” Asami says, pronouncing each syllable with gentle care. Tye says something back in Japanese as she leaves. Jaime gets the movie set up while Tye pops some popcorn, and then they watch the movie. He enjoys it a lot, though he probably enjoys the popcorn more. He hasn’t had popcorn in forever.

“Wow,” Jaime says, “magic robots. That wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“Still pretty sure that  _ Atlantis  _ ripped off this movie,” Tye says, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth. Jaime could see that, honestly. The visuals and concepts are similar enough.

“The movie was good though,” Jaime says. He loved the music, but it made him a little uncomfortable. He thinks that after the Reach invasion and the situation with the War World he’s a little less comfortable with the idea of a technologically advanced city with intense weapons systems floating above them.

“I don’t know how that just floated into myth, though,” Tye says.

“Sometimes people just don’t notice things. No one noticed that the Reach took over my body.” Jaime says. It’s supposed to sound like a light-hearted retort, but it falls so flat that changes the whole key of the conversation from major to the relative minor.

“I did,” Tye says, sounding serious, “I knew they had to be controlling you.”

“But not until too late,” Jaime says. Tye looks affronted.

“I’m not blaming you,” Jaime assures him, “you were all locked up with the rest of the meta kids. It’s just- it’s just-” Jaime tries to find the right words, but comes up short. He speaks two languages but sometimes he can’t express his feelings in either of them.

“You’re safe now,” Tye says, “it’s over.”

“I don’t feel like it’s over,” Jaime says. He feels like it could come back. At any moment, this could all be undone. It’s kind of like the Imperial March is always playing in his head even though the Empire’s been toppled and both the Emperor and Vader are dead.

He knows that it’s over, but that doesn’t mean that his stupid brain does.

“I don’t want to ever feel like that again,” Jaime says.

“Bro, I think you should talk to your mom,” Tye says.

“My mom would kill me.” That’s not the only reason that he doesn’t want to tell her, but that is a factor.

“But she loves you, so she’d bring you back,” Tye says.

“Are you sure?” Jaime asks. His mom’s a nurse, not a necromancer. Tye meets his eyes.

“Look, I would kill to have parents that care half as much about me as yours care about you.”

Tye’s mom has been better since Jaime sent her shitty boyfriend to jail, but it hasn’t been great. Jaime doesn’t know if it’s true that Tye’s mom doesn’t care as much as his parents do, but he does know that Tye’s always felt that way.

“I just want that one part of my life to stay normal, you know?” Tye grins.

“I get it, dude, but honestly? You were never normal.” Jaime glares.

“Oh come on,” Tye says, “it’s not an insult. You’ve always been a superhero, powers or no powers. You just got to embrace it.” Maybe he  _ is  _ a hero, but there’s the deep, clawing feeling in his gut that that could all change so easily.

“You’re like the kid from _Boku No Hero Academia_ ,” Tye says.

“I have no idea what that means,” Jaime says.

“You’re a hero with or without powers,” Tye says, “that’s all you need to know. At least, before I make you watch the show.”

“I don’t know,” Jaime says, then realizes there are two things he could be replying too, “I mean about the hero thing. I don’t care about the show.”  He feels anxious and panicked and easily spooked and he feels stupid about feeling anxious and panicked and easily spooked.

“Look,” Tye says, “maybe you just need to talk this through with someone. Have you talked to your parents yet?”

“No.”

“Have you even talked to that Impulse kid about this yet?”

“No,” Jaime says. The less that he reminds Bart that he could have been the one to bring about his hellscape future, the better.

“Then you haven’t talked to anyone,” Tye accuses accusatorily.

“I’m talking to you,” Jaime says, “right now.”

“Dude,” Tye says, “I say this with love. If you won’t talk to your friends and you won’t talk to your family, maybe talk to Black Canary?”

_ The Black Canary has offered your human therapy,  _ Khaji Da says.

“No,” Jaime says, “not that.”

“It’s alright to need therapy,” Tye says, “I’ve been seeing someone recently.”

“Good,” Jaime says, “I’m glad that you are.” Tye’s gone through a lot of shit lately so Jaime thinks it’s great that he’s getting therapy. It’s just, well, he doesn’t want to be the person that  _ needs  _ therapy. Tye sends him a little glare.

“Look,” Tye says, “if you won’t see a therapist, at least talk to your mom? Or your dad. Just talk to  _ one  _ of them.”

“Alright,” Jaime says. It’s not true, but he sure does say it.

“Good,” Tye says, “wanna start a show?” Jaime nods. He’s still got another hour or so to hang out. He can watch something. Anything to get his mind off of his actual problems.

Jaime does not talk to his mother. He does not talk to his father. He does not talk to his sister. He does his best to avoid even thinking about it, but the nightmares keep clawing their way back when he does manage to catch a little sleep, which isn’t often.

He needs to do  _ something  _ to try to fix this. Something that will help him sleep at night. Maybe if he just had some sort of safeguard in place, then he’d feel better.

_ That is a terrible idea, Jaime Reyes  _ , Khaji Da says.

“You can’t read my thoughts,” Jaime says. There’s no way that the scarab actually picked up on what Jaime was thinking.  _ Jaime  _ barely picked up on what he was thinking. He was barely thinking it, even. It was just a ghost of a thought in the back of his mind,.

_ I can sense the changes in your body chemistry,  _ Khaji Da says,  _ whatever that idea is, it is terrible. _

“Maybe,” Jaime says, the idea solidifying in his brain, “maybe not.”

  
  


There’s only one person that he can ask this particular favor. The only person who would both be invested enough in the idea to actually go through with it and powerful enough to stop him. He doesn’t exactly  _ want  _ to remind Bart of all the terrible things that have happened to him and that could still, maybe, happen, but Jaime also doesn’t want any of those things to happen now.

So. Bart’s feelings get the shaft for the fate of the world. That sounds like business as usual.

“Where are you?” Bart says, “might as well run over.”

“I’m at that spot where we showed off that first time you came over,” Jaime says.

“Course her-man-oh,” Bart says, “whaddya wanna talk about?” Jaime looks up. T he sky is clear and the stars are bright.

“Uh,” he says, “well- it’s kind of serious.”

“I can do serious,” Bart says.

“Uh huh,” Jaime says.

“I  _ can,  _ really.” Then he rolls his eyes. “ _ You  _ know that.”  Out of everyone on the team, Jaime probably knows that the best. Bart acts goofy and a little ditzy, but Jaime knows that he’s one of the smartest people on the team. He thinks that Bart is the most driven as well. Just because he doesn’t really like getting down to business anymore doesn’t mean he’s incapable of it. He just had a hard enough life before he got here that he wants to be able to enjoy the one he has now.

“That part of me that let me go on mode,” Jaime says, “that’s not disabled. Nothing about Khaji’s programming has changed.”

“You think that you could go on mode again,” Bart concludes. Whatever emotion is in his tone, Jaime can’t read it.

“I couldn’t do that again,” Jaime says, “I’d- I’d want someone to stop me before I could.” He never wants to feel that way again.

“Are you asking me to Star-Lord you?” Bart asks. Jaime’s not sure what he means. There are a lot of things that Star-Lord did between three movies, which one is Bart talking about? Oh. Wait. The time in _Infinity War_ where Gamora asked him to shoot her and then he did. That must be the one.

“Um,” Jaime says, “yes?”

“I’m not your Hawkeye,” Bart say gently.

“My who?”

“Riza Hawkeye,” Bart says, “the only person that Mustang trusts to take him out if he ever becomes mad with fire power. Or like, normal political power. Remember her?” Jaime doesn’t say anything. Apparently Bart thinks he should have read this book, or seen this movie, or whatever this is from.

“You haven’t seen  _ Fullmetal Alchemist  _ ?”

“Uh, no?”

“It’s going on the list,” Bart says. Jaime laughs. He remembers when  _ he  _ was the only one putting things on their to watch list.

“How are we to the point where  _ I  _ know more pop cultural stuff than you do?” Bart asks, voicing the exact thing Jaime was thinking.

“Probably because you’re a speedster and watched half of that stuff on the fastest setting you could.” Bart nods.

“True, true, guess I’ll just have to drag you along for a rewatch.”

“At normal speed, please,” Jaime says.

“Can’t we just bump it up a  _ little?”  _ Bart asks, “things go so slow.”

“Nope,” Jaime says, “I need to watch it normal people speed. Might even need to slow it down for me.”

“Nooooooo,” Bart whines.

“Slow,” Jaime says and then he grins as he adds, “despacito.”

“Alexa,” Bart says, “this is _ so sad  _ . Play Despacito.” He pronounces it duh-spat-sit-ow. It hurts Jaime’s ears.

“Ay, dios,” Jaime says. He knows he brought that one himself, but he  _ hates  _ that meme.

“But it’s not so sad that I’m killing my best friend,” Bart says. Jaime grimaces. He thought that topic had died, like he hopes he will if he’s ever moded again.

“But-”

“No buts,” Bart says, “I’m not killing you. That’s not crashing any modes, here.” 

“The figurative modes, then,” Bart says, “it’s not crashing  _ figurative  _ modes. And I care about those, too.” 

“More than the literal ones?” 

“Not enough to kill you,” Bart says firmly, “I can promise to like, let Aqualad know if you’ve been moded though? Make sure that we get you off it?”

“I could seriously hurt people,” Jaime says.

“If you’re scared of hurting your family, maybe you should just tell them? Knowledge is power, right?”

“You’re one to talk about keeping secrets,” Jaime shoots back. Bart doesn’t back down.

“You’re getting nightmares aren’t you?” Jaime sends him a look that says  _duh._

“The Reach almost made you kill me,” Jaime says. He’s not sure what he even means by that, because he didn’t mean to say the words.

“Trust me, Blue,” Bart say, “that’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.” Apparently Bart took it as Jaime deflecting his own trauma, and he’s now doing it himself.

“That doesn’t make it better,” Jaime says.

“Talk to your family,” Bart says.

“Tye suggested that too,” Jaime says.

“Good,” Bart says, “maybe we can get it through your thick head between the two of us.”

_ You should inform your family of the situation,  _ Khaji Da says,  _ or at least speak to your human therapist. _

“He said I should do that or talk to Black Canary,” Jaime says. Bart shudders.

“Talk to your fam,” he says, “You don’t need a brain doctor. You need a hug.” Unsurprisingly, Bart wraps his arms around him and hugs him tightly then. 

“What do you mean, you don’t need a brain doctor?” Jaime asks. 

“You don’t need a doctor to fix your brain,” Bart says, “it’s not that bad. You can just talk it out.” Jaime breaks the hug. 

“Uh,” Jaime says, “are you saying that therapy’s fake?” 

“No,” Bart says, “I just don’t think that we  _ need  _ it. We aren’t that bad, right?” Jaime sighs. He doesn’t want to have to be the voice of reason in this instance. 

“You’ve been through a lot,” Jaime says, “it could help you.” 

“Hey,” Bart says, “how did this become about me? We were talking about how _you_ needed to talk to _your_ fam.” Bart looks very put out that the conversation has turned around on him. 

“I just don’t want you to think there’s something  _ wrong  _ with needing therapy,” Jaime says. 

“And I don’t want you to think you can’t talk to anyone,” Bart says, “you parents are great _.  _ You can talk to them. Hell, you could even talk to Black Canary instead, but you need to do  _ something.”  _ Jaime sighs. He thinks that Bart might be right. He needs to talk to his parents. He  _ wants  _ to talk to his parents. 

“Guess it’d be easier to say you’re a speedster than a friend from algebra,” Jaime admits. His mom was skeptical when Jaime told her that and said that Bart had skipped a couple grades. The truth wouldn’t be easy to believe, but at least it would be the truth.

“No one makes friends in algebra,” Bart says solemnly. Jaime laughs, probably louder than the joke warranted.

He thinks that he  _ will  _ talk to his family, and really, that is a weight off of his chest. Keeping secrets isn’t in his nature, especially not from the people that he loves the most.

It takes him a couple of days of deliberating, and procrastinating, and pussyfooting to finally get around to it. If he didn’t have a literal voice in his head literally bugging him to do it, he doubts that he would have gotten around to it. He has to admit that he’s terrified of how it will go.

 

 

He decides to do it during dinner. Except by the time that he works up the courage it’s more like after dinner. He has to beg everyone to stay at the table because he has something important to tell them.

“What’s this about?” his dad asks. He sounds concerned, and Jaime takes a deep breath. He’ll probably be even more concerned when Jaime tells him.

“It’s easier just to show you,” Jaime says. Then, he allows the Blue armor to cover everything but his face. He wants his family to see his face, so even if they freak out about the armor they remember that it’s still him in there.

“You’re the Blue Beetle?” his sister finally asks. He can’t find his voice, so he just nods.

“But didn’t the Blue Beetle, didn’t he, you know,” she trails off at the end. No one wants to say “work with the Reach” or “betray the earth” out loud.

“Did they threaten you?” his mother asks, sounding terrified by the prospect. Jaime shakes his head.

“Did they trick you?” He shakes his head again. She puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Please, mijo,” she says, “what happened?” He wants to tell her about the mind-control, the whole life shattering ordeal that it was. Instead, what comes out is a mess of euphemism and evasion.

“I wasn’t exactly driving, then.”

“You weren’t driving?” his dad asks. He sounds confused by the statement.

“My body,” Jaime says, “I wasn’t driving my body.” He knows that the metaphor doesn’t make any sense to anyone but him, but he can’t just come out and say it. It feels too raw to say the real words, to really go out and describe what happened to him. It’s easier to use metaphors to deflect some of the pain.

His mother’s eyes are as wide as moons.

“Mind control?” she asks. He nods.

“How long,” she demands.

“Three months,” he says, and the words catch in his throat.

“Three months?” his father echoes in horror.

“Yeah,” Jaime says, “it happened sometime last April, then I was saved sometime in June.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaime says, “maybe if I’d told you earlier-” He shakes his head. If he’d told his parents earlier and they  _ had  _ noticed that something was wrong with him, there’s no telling what the Reach would have made him do. They were probably safer not knowing during the events, but bottling it up for months afterwards wasn’t wise either.

“I should have told you earlier,” Jaime says, “I’ve been Blue Beetle more than a year now.” It’s been such a big secret, his parents have to be angry with him for keeping it so long. That was part of why he didn’t tell them back before the world had gone to shit. He was afraid they’d get mad he hadn’t told them earlier. He was afraid they’d be mad that he put himself in danger.

His mother takes his hand, and he melts the armor away to allow the direct skin to skin contact. Her hand feels warm and solid in his, and she squeezes around it.

“It’s alright, mijo,” his mom says, “we know now. We aren’t mad.” She smiles, eyes wet with tears.

“We’re just glad you’re alright.” His father nods right along with her. Milagro seems shaken too, but she’s always had a talent for bouncing back from trauma. She can make the rest of them smile no matter how awful things are.

“Of course we are,” Mila says, “who would we make fun of if you weren’t?” His mother stifles a laugh, and his father laughs openly, big and deep.

“Oh Mila,” he says. Jaime doesn’t want to bring the mood back down, but he does have something else that he wants to do. He pulls a note that he wrote Nightwing’s phone number on out of his pocket.

“Please,” Jaime says, “I just want you to have this.” He says, shoving the post-it note into her hand.

“Just in case,” he assures her.

“In case of what?” she asks gently.

“In case something like that happens again,” he says. She looks stricken.

“Are you worried about that?” she asks, “are you feeling alright?”

“I’m healthier than a pear,” Jaime says. When he was growing up, sometimes he’d mix up sayings in English and Spanish and they just sort of stuck. Now the entire family does it for fun.

“You don’t feel mind-controlly?” Milagro asks.

“I think that mind-controlly would mean I was doing the mind-controlling,” Jaime points out.

“You don’t feel mind-controlled then?” Milagro asks, rolling her eyes.

“Not right now,” he assures her.

“Hopefully never again,” his father says, switching into Spanish. Jaime nods in agreement.

“Hopefully never again,” he repeats. He knows that it’s unlikely that anything like that would ever happen again. The Reach is locked up a few galaxies away, and no one else knows how his tech works. The chances of him actually getting moded again are slim to none, and he knows that the fears are just paranoia.

He’d hoped that they would float away as soon as he told his family, but the terrible anxiety in the back of his mind hasn’t gone away yet.

_ Your fear hormones are still acting on overdrive, Jaime Reyes,  _ Khaji Da,  _ I had thought this would help. _

It did help, but it didn’t fix the problem. Maybe Tye and Khaji Da are right. Maybe he  _ should  _ talk to Black Canary. He doesn’t know if it will help, but he wants to try. He doesn’t want to feel like this forever. He feels lighter now that he’s talked to his family, but that corrosive fear of losing control of his body hasn’t gone away. Maybe Black Canary can help him with that.

His mom’s a big believer in getting whatever help you might need. He thinks it comes with being a nurse. He knows that she’ll approve of the idea as soon as he mentions it, but he doesn’t want to bring the mood down even more. He can put off that conversation a little bit longer.

_ If you have decided to see the Black Canary, then you should consult your parental units,  _ Khaji Da says.

_ I will,  _ Jaime assures him,  _ later. _

“So,” Mila says, “how do your cannon blasters work?” Jaime grins and draws them.

“I can show you right now,” he offers. It’s a joke, of course, but his mom and dad’s eyes widen.

“No blasters in the house!” his mother shouts. Mila laughs and Jaime laughs as he pulls his canons back into his armor.

“I wasn’t actually going to blast them,” he says.

“You  _ better  _ not have been,” his mother says. His starts laughing right along with them, and then his mother does too. The situation is insane, but it’s something that he gets to share with them now. The superhero craziness, the trauma, the isolation on the team, the nightmares. They don’t know all of it yet, but he knows that he  _ can  _ tell them now. He knows that they won’t be angry with him.

It doesn’t fix all of his issues, but his friends were right. This was a damn good place to start.


End file.
